


Take me to the finish line

by littleramblings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Angst, Gen, I'm so sorry, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 02:15:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleramblings/pseuds/littleramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's a stage, Stiles thinks. The anger comes before acceptance, and he waits it out. Lets Derek shout, clutch him tight enough to bruise. He knows he needs it."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take me to the finish line

**Author's Note:**

> This is angst - pure angst. I'm sorry.

Blood. There's too much blood, too much of it on Derek's hands and too much being absorbed into the torn fabric of Stiles' shirt. “Stay with me.”

 

Stiles smiles, a little higher at one end than the other, and curls his fingers into the worn leather of Derek's jacket. It's the closest they've been in a while and it's a little bitter-sweet, a moment of morbid beauty that this would also be the last time Derek could hold him against his chest, feel the rise and fall of it in time with his own. “Wish I could”

 

Derek growled low in his throat, eyes shining the slightest shade of red. “Dammit, Stiles. What were you thinking? They're _alphas!_ ”

 

It's a stage, Stiles thinks. The anger comes before acceptance, and he waits it out. Lets Derek shout, clutch him tight enough to bruise. He knows he needs it.

 

“What am I supposed to tell your dad? That I let you track down a pack far stronger than any you've ever dealt with with nothing but two humans and _knife?_ You --” Derek would go on, continue to use every synonym for 'stupid' that's ever been listed and work though the haze, try to see clearly again, but Stiles' heart stutters, the his breathing falling out of synch with Derek's own. “No. No, not now.”

 

“Sorry, buddy.” Stiles shrugs, a weak attempt before coughing, crimson staining his lips. “Didn't mean to leave you to look after the kids alone.”

 

Derek purses his lips, eyebrows drawing together and he swears he's not going to cry. He hasn't done that since his he was nine years old – not after his parents (he had to stay strong for Laura) and not after Laura (if he did, he'd never stop). “Idiot.”

 

There's no malice behind it; his tone is fond, resigned, and Stiles listens to everything Derek doesn't say – everything he can't. It's the last thing he hears. 


End file.
